


your hands (my mouth)

by rosehale



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Desk Sex, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, i'm so sorry mother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7847734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosehale/pseuds/rosehale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Tommy’s birthday, Grace arranges herself in the chair at his desk, in her silk night robe and nothing else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your hands (my mouth)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm trash :))))
> 
> honestly i'm so sorry this is just sin but tommy and grace make my heart hurt
> 
> \--
> 
> also i made Tommy thirty one because that feels vaguely right in timeline sense?? but i could be completely wrong please don't fight me
> 
> set after the wedding, maybe between 3.01 and 3.02?

On Tommy’s birthday, Grace arranges herself in the chair at his desk, in her silk night robe and nothing else. There’s a photo of her and Charlie close to where his right hand would rest. She smokes one of his cigarettes and smiles at it. He’d gone out to dinner, a business meeting, but he’s home five minutes before he promised to be, she hears him unlock the front door, come up the stairs. She’s made sure to leave the study lights on and the bedroom dark, so he knows where to find her. Charlie's asleep, the servants are in their quarters. It is just them, alone in a grand house. His footsteps are solid in the hallway. The door creaks as he pushes it open, shadowed in the flickering firelight.

  
“Good evening, Mr Shelby.”

  
Her night robe is arranged to cover her breasts, but there’s a long strip of skin on show between the two edges of fabric, disappearing under the desk. Her hair is piled on top of her head, strands around her face, a simple pull of a pin will let it free, like she knows he likes. A cigarette smoulders between two fingers. She’s presented the picture well. At the door, Tommy smiles.

  
“Good evening, Mrs Shelby,” he greets, taking his hat off, sliding out of his coat.

  
“I heard rumours it was your birthday.”

  
He takes his jacket off, drops it in an armchair, lights a cigarette, and leans against the wall, admiring the view. She touches one edge of the dressing gown, twitching it to reveal more skin. Grace stubs out her cigarette and beckons him closer.

  
“You heard right,” Tommy’s voice is low, rough, a smirk around it.

  
“I thought I’d better give you a present then.”

  
“Really?” His mouth quirks, his eyes glitter. She spins the chair to face him as he rounds the desk. Grace smiles as sweetly as she can, and uncrosses her legs. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, and laughs, deep in his chest.

  
“Do you like it?” She murmurs, watching the angles of his body as he leans to snub the cigarette out, leaving the last of the smoke whispering around them. Tommy drops to his knees in front her, big hands smoothing up her thighs.

  
“I love it,” he breathes, and kisses her between her legs. Grace's eyelids flutter a bit, but she tangles a hand in his hair and tugs him up, his dilated pupils ringed in the brightest blue.

  
“Later,” she tells him, and stands, the smooth silk brushing her hips. Tommy stands with her, and she lifts herself up to sit on the desk, purposely pushing the night robe from her shoulders to sift gently to the wooden surface, leaving her naked and exposed. Tommy shakes his heads, smiling, and curves warm fingers around the back of her calf. She’d spent an hour in the bath after Charlie went to bed, and her skin is smooth and freshly shaved, smelling like roses. Grace wanted to make it special for him. For both of them. Not hurried and sleepy before the baby wakes up. A man only turns thirty one once.

She lets him look for as long as he wants, long fingers carefully making their way up her leg before he steps in, nudging her knees apart to encase him, his hands on her hips, up to her breasts, a thumb brushing her left nipple as he guides her in for a kiss with his right hand. His mouth is warm and open, tongue quickly finding hers. Tommy makes quiet noises against her lips, and she begins to slowly unbutton his shirt, sure to trail her fingers gently down his stomach. He gets impatient then, shrugs himself out of the material and quickly yanking his undershirt over his head. Grace kisses over his collarbone, slipping a hand into his trousers. He sighs against her ear, and she holds his neck, lets him breathe against her cheek as she makes him feel good.

  
“Grace,” he moans, ragged, and his hands find hers to unbutton his trousers, runs his palm up the skin of her inner thigh, slipping a finger into her and kissing the gasp off her tongue. She lifts her hands to touch his hair, glide up his strong back, laughs into his neck when he has to raise her a little to adjust her to where it will work, withdrawing his hand to hold her hip, pushing in slow s l o w. He knows what she likes, and it makes her want to cry that he’s making it so good for her even though it’s his present.

  
“Tommy,” she says, repeats it as he finds a rhythm and she can’t think about anything but him, his hands on her skin, his mouth on hers, on her neck, in her hair. He finds the pin with fumbling fingers, and lets the strands fall free around her neck. She can see him smiling, white teeth flashing, his breath quick, his hands big on her back, holding her tight against him.

  
“Oh,” she gasps, when he finds a good spot and presses his forehead to hers, his breath hot on her lips, inhaling each others air. Grace is vaguely aware of the desk moving with them, the rattling of the items in the drawers, the scraping of wood, and hopes Tommy remembered to close the door behind him. She can’t bring herself to care at this point.

  
“Grace, Grace, Grace,” he chants, slipping a hand between them to ensure she reaches the edge with him.

  
“Oh, God,” her head lolls back and Tommy buries his face in the arch of her neck, moaning wrecked and lovely into her skin as his rhythm falters and shudders and she shakes apart in his capable hands.

When she comes back to herself, he’s trembling, and it scares her for a moment before she realises he’s laughing quietly to himself, kissing her jaw, the edge of her mouth.

  
“I’m never going to be able to sit at this desk without thinking about this again.”

  
Grace smiles, takes his face in her hands, “And that’s a bad thing?”

  
Tommy rubs his hands up her sides and kisses her again.

**Author's Note:**

> oh god, does grace smoke?? i'm so sorry, that's a massive fuck up... it's very late at night. please forgive me.


End file.
